


Deal or No Deal

by Randomcitizen237



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Humor, Brexit, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomcitizen237/pseuds/Randomcitizen237
Summary: As the countdown to Brexit drew closer, France found himself more and more annoyed. He knew first hand no one could change England's mind once it was made up, yet he still hoped Brexit might not happen. Since no deal had been agreed on, this hope lingered resulting in France taking desperate measures.





	1. ~one~

When questioned on the subject on the table at the EU meeting that day in Hungary, France would admit it was probably something trivial. It had not been the discussion itself that sent him over the edge, but rather the fact that a certain someone seated next to him had an opinion on the matter. 

“Why do you get a say on the subject? Your opinion on anything to do with the EU is essentially invalid now Angleterre.” France ran his hand through his hair, more tired and weary than vindictive.

The recipient of his speech seemed oblivious to this, countering with anger “Like it or not for the next 53 days 6 hours and,” he glanced down at his watch, “46 minutes, I am still part of this bloody union. You'll be free of me soon enough, so do shut up with your complaining.”

Despite his previous attempt not to address his island neighbour with contempt, France found England's giddy apathy to the situation disturbing. Once again he found himself stooping to the latter's level, “Not soon enough in my mind! It's already been two years, if you are actually leaving then leave. Stop dawdling and wasting my time!”

The Englishman had the audacity to scoff, “Your time? I didn't realise you made up the entirety of the EU. Last time I checked this has little to do with you.”

France was losing his patience, “Oh contraire Angleterre, this does concern moi.”

“No it doesn't.” 

“Mais oui, after all I am now able to rub it in your face that I was right all along. Everyone will see that Big Brother France knew best.”

England’s brows twitched as he crossed his arms in an effort to prevent himself from wrapping them around France’s neck. “What are you going off about now frog?”

A smirk, “1963.” Had England been actually paying attention he would have realised the smirk was more exaggerated, less authentic than normal. However, he was too caught up in the fight to pay heed to his opponents emotions. 

“How does that have anything to do with Brexit? '63 was a great year, both the Beatles and Doctor Who debuted then. Has your poor excuse of a brain finally succumbed to your own stupidity? Your line of reasoning is less comprehensive than normal.”

The Frenchman shook his head, giving no further explanation before simply stating another year. “1967”

England's mind raced, attempting to make sense of his neighbours nonsensical ramblings. Suddenly a common denominator clicked. 

“Wait a tick! You better not be alluding to what I think you are.”

A laugh escaped the French country, “Oh Angleterre I would never attempt to gauge what was going on in that deranged little brain of yours. If you have something to say, spit it out.”

As England clenched his teeth in rage, their bubble of tension was popped by a loud “Sì”  
Both countries whipped their heads around, suddenly reminded that they were not alone. The perpetrator continued on, “Tell us England, I want to know what Big Brother France is talking about.” 

Seeing England’s annoyance at the way the scene was playing out, France silently thanked Italy for actually paying attention during a meeting for once. Realising he was cornered in the conversation, the island nation gritted his teeth, “Those were the years my application to join the EU were shot down.”

“By whom?” France prompted with a grin. 

Hate seemed to seep out of England's pores, “You.”

“Oui!” He clapped his hands together before turning toward Italy. “You see Big Brother was worried about Europe and knew that the black sheep would contaminate it. I assumed he would soon tire of the Union and leave when it suited him. Et j'avais raison!”

“Wow Big Brother knew best.”

Germany rubbed his temple, joining the conversation, “Italy it is not as simple as that.”

“No it is not.” England spat out. “And you do not get to act the part of the hero France. Evidently you have been spending too much time around America. Besides not two minutes ago you were playing the victim.”

As France opened his mouth to retaliate with some cutting rebuke, Germany interceded. “Let's drop the subject for now and proceed with settling what we can while England is still here.” 

Sending France one last bitter glare, England relented, leaving France stewing in his own sour emotions.

 

~☆~

Simply seeing England sitting there nonchalantly taking notes and occasionally reaching for his tea was enough to send a wave of irritation through the Frenchman. It re-enforced the fact that in a mere month and a half, this scene might be one he was no longer privy to. At least significantly less often. Fighting against his annoyance he painted on a smile, thicker than before. 

The remainder of the meeting passed without further incident. As Germany called an end to their discussion, the occupants of the room readied themselves to leave. A dim of conversation overtook the chamber, the nations discussing their post meeting plans. France spied Spain waving him over from across the room. While a night spent drinking with his friend did seem tempting, the French nation found he was not in the mood. Shaking his head in refusal, France turned his attention to the nation seated next to him. Said country seemed to be in a hurry to quit the meeting. 

Feeling the gaze upon him, England raised his head from the papers he was placing in his briefcase. “What now frog, haven't you said enough already?”

France winced at the pure loathing in his frenemies voice, “I simply wished to ask how things have been going for you.”

“So that you can start another fight.”

“Non. I am worried about how the turmoil in your country is affecting you personally.”

England deadpanned, “Right, and America hates hamburgers.”

“Are you really leaving?”

A nod of confirmation. As England once again turned his attention to his papers, France assumed he was putting an end to the conversation. That was until he heard the mumbled downward voice of his neighbour continue on, “May is determined that we will leave by the 29th deal or no deal.”

A sigh of frustration escaped the older country, “Do you really want to do that Angleterre? It's not too late to back down, I wouldn't hold it against you. Your people are on the edge about leaving, your own Parliament can't even agree on a deal. What do you want to do?”

“It doesn't matter what I want, I must support what my people decide. That is my duty as a nation.”

“Oui je sais, but you do have an opinion, non?”

Casting a glance around the room, England found they were now alone. Still he took the precaution of addressing France in a hushed tone, “An opinion that is mine alone. I am following the example of Her Majesty and remaining completely mum on my personal view of Brexit.”

“Well I am not. I believe it is, how would you say, ‘a load of rubbish.’”

Papers put away, England slammed his case shut, “Nobody asked your opinion. And why are you so desperate for me to stay when you never wanted me to join in the first place?” 

France hesitated, “This ‘divorce’ means extra work for the rest of the Union. Your theatrics are a hindrance to the rest of us.”

The nation at the root of the problem grimaced, “I hate that term.”

“Quoi?” France arched a brow, confused.

England pushed his chair in before responding, “I hate when Brexit is referred to as a divorce.”

“Pourquoi?”

He scratched the back of his head, semi uncomfortable, “A divorce alludes to a marriage, something I would want no part of. Especially seeing as you are a part of the EU.”

France ignored the sinking feeling in his chest, “Is it really that bad to rely on others?”

“I am an island, I am better off alone.” 

“You are a lonely bitter little man, has anyone told you that?”

A glare was his response, “Yes, you several times.” 

Realising his efforts to pacify England were proving null and void, France berated himself. It seemed that no matter his intentions, all conversations with the island nation ended in an argument. Changing tactics he readdressed the country who was in the process of putting on his coat. 

“Do you have plans after this?”

England glanced at him suspiciously, “No, my flight back to London is not until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Bon, then you will join me for a few drinks tonight. Hungary told me the location of a pub here that she guarantees you will love.”

The English man was weary as his enemies flirtatious side returned, “Why would I do that France, so you can torment me some more?”

“Non, no more arguments. We won't have many other chances to do this before you leave, so humour me.”

Against his better judgement, and much to France's joy, England agreed. France wished it was that simple to convince him to stay in the EU as well.


	2. ~two~

“In a letter to all 317 Tory members of Parliament, Theresa May said ‘history will judge us all’ over the handling of Brexit.”

“‘History will judge you all over Brexit.’ I’m already judging you!” France mimicked mockingly. 

Exasperated, he felt around for the closest item at a hand, a serving spoon, and tossed it at the radio. Rather than halting the racket, the utensil pushed the device onto its side. Static filled the room as the transmission expressed its immense displeasure at being treated so insolently. Sighing dramatically the Frenchman turned the heat down on his stove before stalking over to the offensive noise. This day was not going as planned. Radio dealt with, he returned to the stove. Amid stirring his noon hour feast, the phone rang. 

“Vraiment? Can you not see I am busy?”

Of course, the person on the other side was not privy to this information. Hence, the heat was turned down once again before France reached for his phone. Rubbing his temples, he answered the call, paying no heed to the caller ID.

“Oui?”

A soft, “Allô France.” the voice on the other side instantly eased some of the day’s tension.

“Mathieu! How are you? Is anything wrong? There is a polar vortex out your way isn't there?”

The young man was quick to reassure the older one, “Non, everything is alright here. It is quite cold, but nothing I'm not used to. Alfred’s not as accustomed to this weather though, he's having a hard time adjusting. Cold snaps rarely hit his place like they do mine. This year seems to be an exception.”

“Oui, this year is hardly shaping up to be my favourite year.” he drifted off before continuing, “Remind me to check up on America sometime soon. For now, what was it you needed?”

“Am I not allowed to phone you without a purpose?” Canada questioned lightheartedly.

“Mais oui, of course you can! Whenever you wish.”

The Canadian chuckled at the panicked yet reassuring tone of his father figure. “Good to know, although I do happen to have a purpose in calling you today.”

“Quoi?”

“Well, you see this winter wonderland gets Al thinking about hockey, which is fantastic as that is my forte. Unfortunately, he has his facts messed up. He started ranting about how his place is so much better at hockey than mine, which is preposterous!”

“D’accord?” the Frenchman was not entirely clear what the younger country was trying to get at. Canada's sudden change of demeanour at the mention of hockey always surprised him. 

“He started listing medals he supposedly won. All in all he was correct until he reached '52. He claims he won gold at the Olympics that year, but I know for a fact that I did! It was the last time I won gold until 2002, so of course I would remember. America is being stubborn though and adamantly insists that he won!”

Silence rang over the phone, “Mathieu, did you call me just to intermediate your sibling rivalry?

“Err, oui?”

“Can't you search the answer up on the google?”

“It's called, ‘Google searching’ not ‘searching it up on the google.’ And we did, but he claims Wikipedia is unreliable. Although last week, when it proved his point, it wasn't full of dubious content. Anyways, I know you took a picture of us after the match, can you see if you can find it?”

A sigh, “Fine I will see what I can dig up.”

“Merci, you're the best!”

Despite his annoyance, a wave of fondness overcame the man. “Oui, je sais. Au revoir Mathieu.”

“Salut!”

France shook his head as he hung up the phone. While the antics of the North American pair amused him, they were draining.

“I am not to blame for their stubbornness.” He informed the empty room, “It's probably England's fault, like everything else.”

The shire shriek of the fire alarm pulled him from his thoughts as a rather unpleasant scent made itself apparent. Phone forgotten, France hurried to the kitchen. The scene that met his eyes was definitely not one that he was accustomed to seeing in his kitchen. Black smoke encompassed the room, the source of it being the saucepan that sat innocently on the stove. Upon closer inspection the offensive pot now held the charcoaled remains of what used to be soup. 

The French nation felt like crying as he rushed to remove the pot from the stove. It became clear that in his haste to answer the phone; he had turned up the heat rather than decreasing the temperature. Instead of simmering as intended, his lunch now resemble something he would expect to be served at England's house. Swearing, he deposited the cooking vessel into the sink, allowing it to cool down. Then he fumbled around the house, opening windows and doors as he went along. Eventually the smoke dissipated, and the alarm was silenced. The ordeal resolved, France slumped into an armchair. England was definitely to blame for this. 

Eventually, France had enough of wallowing in self-pity, as there was no one to observe his theatrics. Hence, he decided he needed a distraction. However, everything on the news irked him, the television broadcasted entirely too many programs in English, and he couldn't concentrate long enough make progress on any of his half-finished paintings. Options dwindling, Canada's request came to mind. He figured it was a more attractive option than remaining on the couch, sulking. The first matter of business was to determine where the photograph in question was most likely to be stored. Relatively, in conjunction with the hundreds of years he had lived, the 1950s were not that far in the past. However, that hardly meant that he had photos from said decade lying around for easy access. France paused, narrowing down his options. They certainly would not be at his Calais country house. That was where he stored items pertaining to his truly ancient past. Therefore, the photograph must be in his Paris townhouse. At least he hoped so. 

Two hours later France sat surrounded by a sea of mementos and memorabilia. The sentimentalist was reconsidering his obsession with keeping each and every token acquired over the years. Either that or he would have to have England file everything for him. A smile graced France’s face as he pictured the Englishman hunkered over in concentration, meticulously categorising his keepsakes. His expression shifted into a grimace however as he remembered their current relationship. 

“Stupid Brexit.” he muttered bitterly under his breath. He channelled his aggregation into his search. Eventually, he came across a few photos of what seemed to resemble the desired Olympics. Digging deeper into the pile he pulled out a photograph of America and Canada. The shot showed the two of them side by side at Norway’s wearing their respective countries jerseys. A good-natured taunting smirk adorned the Canadians face, his arm slung around the shoulder of the pouting American. The gold medal hanging around the neck of the northern country contrasted the silver one situated around America’s. It clearly settled the issue of ranking. Feeling a sense of satisfaction, France set the photo aside. Retrieval mission accomplished, he now faced the astronomical task of cleaning up the mess he had created. He debated postponing the job but ultimately decided against it as the chaos marred the beauty of his house. Throwing the loose pieces of his hair into a tight ponytail and reaching for another glass of wine, he began to resemble the room.

Halfway through the tidying process, a piece of paper caught the Frenchman eyes. Time had took its toll on it but the parchment remained intact. Intrigued France reached for it. The contents instantly brought back a barrage of memories:

“That's a marriage registration form, you idiot!”

“No, it's not. Can't you see? It is a calendar! It is for you. It is a calendar!”

“What's come over you? Unhand me you foppish twit!”

“Just sign it!”

“I will do no such thing!”

“I said sign it!”

“No! Stop it!”

France stared down at the document that had caused England to have such a hostile reaction all those years ago. A melancholy smile painted his face. If only England had signed the marriage form, then he wouldn't have the option of leaving France now. Sighing, the European nation gave the form one last wishful glance. As he went to put it away for another 60 years, something caught his eye. Beneath the scribbled mess that littered the paper, was a signature. It wasn't Frances as that lay at the bottom of the paper. Squinting, he attempted to make sense of the writing. The answer struck him suddenly. It was England's! France had coerced the island nation into signing the paper, forcing his hand to trace out each letter in his name. However, after England's apparent destruction of the paperwork, France had written the document off. Upon further inspection though, it still seemed valid. There was nothing saying a form with words scratched out was null and void. For the first time in months, a genuine smile overtook his face. It quickly morphed into a leering look that would have frightened England had he been there.

“Oh Angleterre, just you try to get away now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: France is a drama queen as per usual and listens to BBC all alone in his house for no reason. Also technically, he would be speaking French while muttering to himself in his house but this is an English fic so…


	3. ~three~

England was straight up not having a good time. The turmoil of the past few years was starting to catch up with him. And he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the next month and a bit would do little to improve his situation. A permanent frown was etched into his face, the perfect companion to the raging migraine that had been his constant companion since the start of this whole ordeal. Part of him wished that October and that damn deadline would be over and done with. On the other hand, he also seriously wished that he had never heard of the cursed term 'Brexit'. The clock was ticking, every passing second drawing him closer to the 31st of October. The unexplainable sense of dread and apprehension he felt did not bide well with the former pirate. 

"Bloody hell, I am getting too old for this." He shook his head, pouring himself a cup of tea. He peered wistfully into the steaming liquid as if it could provide the answer to all of his problems. Unfortunately, the beverage had no solutions for him. 

His sullen mood was interrupted by an incoming conference video call. A glance at his phone and the identity of the callers told him all that he needed to know. In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he clicked accept. And then instantly regretted it. 

“Hey dude! It’s me the hero! Did you miss me?” A shrill pitch pierced the older nations ears causing him to flinch. 

“America.” he acknowledged, jaw clenched.

“I am here too.” a voice mumbled.

Hearing the second person, a ghost of a smile graced England's face. “Yes, I see that Canada. Now to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

"We're boooorrrreeeddd!" America drew out the word as if to accentuate the situation.

"And so you decided to bother me." England deadpanned. "Is there nothing more interesting to do at your places?"

"Actually," the quieter 'twin' spoke up, "there is plenty happening. In fact, I'm in the middle of an election. But I just wanted to check in with.."

The rest of his sentence was cut off by his southern neighbour, "Matty! I didn't know that you had elections! You have a president? Are you copying me?" 

Identical sighs escaped England and Canada as they exchanged looks, "America, you are not the only country that has elections.", the island nation chastised him.

"And no I don't have a president," Canada grumbled, "I have a prime minister."

"Sounds lame." America proclaimed.

The mild-tempered nation's brows furrowed, "My election is not lame! You’re lame!"

England shook his head at their antics which quickly began escalating. He went to help himself to some biscuits as the two North Americans battled out whose election was more captivating. The older country drowned them out with his tea as they continued to drone on.

'...Liberals…''...impeachment…' '...blackface…' ' ...Democrats…' '...climate change…' '2020..'

Zoning back into the discussion, England returned to Canada sending a rebuttal to his neighbour, "Well at least we don't start campaigning over a year before the election."

This caught the Englishman's attention, "Wait a tick! When are your elections?"

"Next month." Canada muttered as his southern counterpart responded, "November 2020!". 

"Is there any specific reason that you are making a big deal about this now if it isn't until next autumn?" 

"Ahhh cuz it's totally normal to start campaigning early!" 

England stared back vacantly, "I do hope you are aware of how idiotic that is."

"No, everyone else's election periods are just dumb! They should follow the hero and campaign for a least a year. How else would you…" 

Having heard enough and given his raging headache, England swiftly hit a button on his phone. His shoulders instantly uncoiled as the grating tone of the American was silenced. 

“Did you...did you just put him on mute?!”, Canada gawked.

The island nation shrugged, “He was getting on my nerves.”

Canada did not know whether or not to be impressed or offended. 

“Come on now chap, don’t give me that look. It’s for his own good.” Seeing the continued scepticism on the others face, England's expression softened, “Besides, I think at this point all he really needs is a good rant session. This will be therapeutic, he can get it out of his system while not annoying anyone.”

America’s ‘twin’ chuckled in agreeance, “A hundred bucks says he doesn’t even notice he is on mute.”

England's eyes narrowed in mock disapproval, “I am not making bets that I know I will lose. Besides with the pound to Canadian dollar exchange rate right now, I would be out a lot more than you.” 

Canada’s brows drew together, “Why is..”, he drifted off as a wave of understanding overcame him, “Oh right! Sorry, I forgot that Brexit was causing the pound to plummet.”

At the word ‘Brexit’, England instinctively flinched. Not wishing to worry the North American, he plastered on a smile, hoping the transition was quick enough to escape the notice of the Canadian. Unfortunately, his mock cheer was met by silence. 

“What, did you put me on mute now?” his veiled attempt at humour was met with further silence. The Canadian sat still on the other end, studying the older nation. England squirmed under the scrutinizing glance of his younger ‘son’. Canada had always seemed to be able to peer into England’s deepest emotions, something he was not comfortable with, as they were hidden for a reason. 

Desperate to prevent the Canadian from unearthing things that he would rather keep deep in the recesses of his heart, England attempted to change the subject, “So hockey starts next month, right?”

Even at the prospect of a conversation on hockey, Canada would not be deterred, “How is everything going with Brexit?”

The Englishman's brows knitted, “It’s fine. It will all be over and done with next month. Deal or no deal.”

The northern nation shook his head, “That’s not what I mean. I know the logistics of the situation, but how are you holding up?”

“I am fine.” was England short reply. 

Canada was not convinced, "Talking about elections, how many Prime Ministers have you been through since the start of this mess?"

England inhaled, answering through gritted teeth, "Three, possibly four with Johnson's latest stunt. If the supreme court's decision is anything to go off of, he may be shortly out of a job."

The younger blond nodded his head empathetically, "Being in the midst of an election, I know how taxing there are. I can't imagine how difficult three elections in the period of a few years would be."

"You do know who you are talking to right? I controlled ⅓ of this globe. A few elections and this Brexit ordeal mean nothing to me."

England frowned as he noticed the sympathetic expression that still framed Canada's face, "We are truly worried about you, you know that right?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but your concern is completely baseless." England attempted to brush the younger country off, "Although, incidentally, who exactly is 'we'?"

"America and me!", hesitation, "Um, and France."

The island nations brows snapped together, teeth clenched, "Now you're really venturing into the unbelievable, lad!"

"He does care, more than either of you would like to admit."

England's face contorted, the emotions he had left simmering since June 2016, began to approach a boil, "No. He. Does. Not! In fact, he hasn't even contacted me since this spring, before the deadline was changed."

The younger countries expression dulled, “I haven’t heard from him too often since then either. He assured me everything was alright and that he has simply been preoccupied with something.”

A scoff, “Probably planning a celebration since he can finally wash his hands of me."

Canada winced, “I do wish you could see he doesn't actually hate you.”

“And I wish this topic of conversation was over.”

“Sorry for pushing it.” The North American murmured apologetically, “I just wanted to help.”

England exhaled, more irked at himself than at his conversation partner, “No I'm sorry, you were just trying to cheer me up. I do appreciate that.”

The corner of the Canadians eyes crinkled fondly, “Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Take it easy.” England ran his hand through his messy blond hair which was starting to grow too long for his taste. France’s fault of course, as he had not been around to cut it. “Try to survive your next month of elections. And America’s americanness.”

“Thanks.” Canada beamed at his parental figure, “Oh and speaking on America, maybe you should check back in with him.” 

“Fine I suppose you're right.” the older nation rolled his eyes, lightheartedly grumbling as he turned the volume on the American’s call off silent. 

“...and here's how Bernie can still win...”

Canada burst out laughing at his ‘brother’, “Wow Al, I didn't realise we were still in 2016.”

America maturely stuck his tongue out in response, “Hey the memes of yesterday are the truths of today!”

“That doesn't make any...”

“I haven't the foggiest idea what you two are going on about,” England interrupted them, “and frankly I don't care to. So this is where I bid you adieu.”

A chorus of goodbyes met his ears as he clicked to end the call. Rubbing his temples, he turned to the kitchen. After that discussion and the month that lay ahead of him, he needed something stronger than tea.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is sort of a continuation of my ‘Brexit’ fic I posted a couple years ago on ff.net. All this Brexit drama is driving me crazy and hence this story.


End file.
